Reaping's Chance
by crowes
Summary: 76 years after the Hunger Games that changed it all, it's back, and twice as brutal. But how did it happen? Who is behind it all? Gearwen Cogless from District Three is determined to find out, but is she able to handle the truth? My first Hunger Games fanfic, so I'll probably get loads of things wrong. Don't hesitate to tear apart my entire storyline if it's any way inaccurate.


**CHAPTER ONE**

_Outskirts of District 3_

_4:56 am_

I wake up to the lack of sound in the room across the hall.

This is quite unusual, since our house is pretty small when you compare it to the skyscrapers and satellite towers in the center of District 3. Thus, my dad often comes up here for solace from the noise of the Downstairs. I'm not complaining. Our house is alright. For living in the Rust-buckets, at least.

As the primary breadwinner among my siblings, I was allowed to claim the attic bedroom for myself. Though it is small, the only other room on the second level is my adopted father, Albert Cogless's, workshop. So it has the appeal of his banging and tinkering blocking out the yelling, arguing, and plodding feet of six younger children.

The sounds of him working have a comforting effect on me. They help me think. They help me sleep.

I yawn and stand up. Throwing on cargo pants and a tank top, I have to wonder where Alby is. He rarely ever leaves his workshop, and when he does it's only for meals, sleep, and...

"Scrap bits!" I swear. "The Reaping!"

I groan and run my fingers through my cropped hair. How could I forget? Not that it matters. You can't really prepare for the Reaping.

Thankfully, I am in the habit of waking up early, so maybe I can fit in some work before the ceremony. Of course, most businesses will be closed today. Then again, no normal place would take on a fifteen year old drop out.

I grab my platform that is leaning against the side of the wall. It's an old model, a hand-me-down from my older sister. Some of the fancy ones you can control through eye-scan, but mine still has a regular key. I hop onto it and crouch, starting it up. Thank bolts for my new muffler, so it didn't make as much noise.

I carry it over to the window. I unlatch it and open it, pulling myself and my platform onto the frame. I take a moment to gaze out. For miles, the Rust-buckets stretch out around the city. The pinnacle of the city is the five main skyscrapers above fifty flights. Those are for the big-shot engineers that make refrigerators with automatic doors and showers that you can trigger with your feet for the capitol. The smaller ones surrounding them are mostly aspiring businesses, banks, apartments, and the prison. The only time I ever step foot in the city is once a year on the Reaping. I sigh, take one last look, and jump.

Before I can hit the ground, the powerful fans cause the board to hover above the cement. I lean forward, moving towards the center of the district. I take sharp turns to avoid buildings. The momentum carries me higher so that I can fly over the rooftops. I let out a large breath. Soaring through the air like this makes me feel free. Like I don't have a thousand strings tying me to the ground. Like I could just leave this place and never return.

In theory, I can. I'd removed the tracking device on my platform when I was younger and knew what it would look like. (Of course, then I was accosted by the alerted peacekeepers and suspended from platforming for six months. I learned from my mistake, though. The second time, I disarmed the alarm as well) But even if I didn't have my family to take care of, I don't know where I'd go. I've been to the edge of District three, and beyond the fence is only wilderness.

All of the peacekeepers will be in the city, and unlikely to see me "fooling around" on such a sacred day. As I reach the edge of the Rust-buckets, I descend into an abandoned alley way. Adrenaline causes me to do a loop before landing. I quickly pick up my board and stride towards the dead-end. There is a false wall that, when pulled up, leads to my workshop.

I've been working on a new model for the gang. A finger-scan replicator. What it does is take the trace of a frequently used scan, locates the fingerprint, and replicates the pattern in order to unlock whatever safe the gang was going to go after next. I started working with them when I was seven, making lock picks. Then Prudy forgot about all of us and ran off with her scholarship to apprentice for the company seated directly upon the capitol's lap. Hirotech.

Maybe it sounding like "hero" made it easier to work for. It was awfully romantic, and Prudy always did enjoy those kinds of things.

I manage to make good progress, and complete the software I had been working on for three months. All that was left to do was complete the frame. I lean back just as I hear footsteps behind me.

Startled, I turn around to a smugly grinning boy. He smiles wider, showing more of his yellowing teeth. "Hey Wen, ye should have seen yer face!" He guffaws. "Ye look like ye've seen blastin' lightnin 'storm for bolts' sake." I can't help it and begin to laugh with him. My brother, Static's best friend, Rusty runs errands for the gang sometimes. He's not much for brains, but he's got light feet and an innocent glint in his eyes. Perhaps it helps that he's hardly over four feet and only ten.

"Nice to see ya too, Rust," I say sarcastically.

I stand right between him and my project. He tries to look over my shoulder. "Watcha workin' on?"

Making myself taller, I stretch over him. "None of your elbow grease." It seems like Rusty's nosy job was leaking into his habits. Or is it the other way around? He tries to push past me, but years of having my own room prepares me for this. "Not so fast. This information is CLASSIFIED." He scowls at my use of Steel's words, but no longer tries to struggle. "What are you doing here anyway?" I ask.

He looks a little guilty, and I instantly know. "Rust, you can't just stroll in here and..."

"C'mon, Wen," he whined. "I just wanted ta give me sis one last sup before, ya know... She's goin inta the reapin' this year, and I can't get tesserae yet." My heart goes out to him, and I sigh.

"Okay, Rusty, just this once." I reach into the sack on my tool belt and pull out a couple copper coins. I hold them above his cupped hands, but before I give him the drachmas, I bring them up above his reach. "Wait."

His face twists into a tortured expression. "I know you've been pressuring Static to join you in your exploits. Don't try to deny it. If I give you this, I want you to let him be." He tries to argue, but I hold them up higher. He goes silent. "I will always look after my brother. He will go to school. He will NOT go into this business. Do you understand?" Rusty nods humbly.

"It's just that Steel, he said..."

"I don't care about Steel. He has me. He will not gain a new recruit of my brother." At his worried expression, I relent and reassure Rusty by letting go of the coins and saying, "Don't worry, Rust, I'll speak to him."

"Aye," he says. "Thanks."

_9:42 am_

I knock on Static's door and open it to find him lying over something on his bottom bunk. He shares the room with his twin sister, Voltyn, who is super obsessed with maglevs lately. Multiple posters of them cover the walls of the small room. "Hey buddy," I call quietly.

"Oh, Gearwen!" He starts and shoves his project into the pocket of his too big flannel pajama pants and turns to face me. His brow furrows in concern. "Δεν έχετε αρκετό ύπνο χθες τη νύχτα;"

A few years ago, I raided the old abandoned section of the library and spent six months refurbishing old moth-eaten books. There, I came across Greek to English, a Traveler's Translational Dictionary. A lot of the words inside come from ancient times, before Panem, as hard as that it is to believe that it once did not exist. Anyway, Static took to the strange language immediately, and so I studied it with him. Now, we can talk in clear hearing range, and yet in secret.

"I'm fine, Static." I say in English, frankly too tired to translate. I fall onto the mattress beside him. "I just couldn't fall asleep last night.

He switches to normal too and narrows his eyes. "You forgot about the Reaping."

I stuff a pillow in my face and moan. I speak, my voice muffled. "You tell anyone, I will raid your tablet memory." Static's laptop is his pride and joy. He dug it up in the junkyard and restored its settings. I peek above the cushion to see his reaction.

"You wouldn't dare," he said, smiling.

"You wanna bet?" I ask. I look over the side of the bed and take his tablet out from under it. He yanks it away from me, and we both laugh. "Hey, where's your sister?"

"She went to go help mom with breakfast."

I grimace. Like it's going to be any different than any other day. Voltyn was vying for mom's attention. I guess she needs someone to watch over her. With me working and Prudy in school, she has no one besides our mother, as little as she's around.

I raise my eyebrows mischievously. "Race me there?" I ask.

"Not fair, you have longer legs." Before he reaches the end of his protest, I'm out the door.

Static and Voltyn's room is at the end of the hallway, on the opposite side of the house from the dining room and kitchen. So I pass my other siblings' rooms on my way to it. You can tell when you come up on Cong's room because you can hear the music from the other side of the wall. He keeps himself locked up in there, listening to the deafening stuff. Like Alby, I guess. The only thing is I'm not sure is what he does in there besides blasting illegal recordings of gang bands.

I pound on the door as I run. "BREAKFAST!" I scream over the sound. The only response I get is his turning the volume down.

Next door down is the twins': Berit and Zeta. I only have to tap once, and I hear Berit knocking his head against the top bunk and swearing. "Hey, I heard that. Wake up the lazy one on top, would you?" I sing before galloping into the kitchen.

I stop suddenly as I enter through the open doorway. In our kitchen, we have a sink, cabinets, a washer, and a dryer. My mother, Angie, stands next to the counter underneath the cabinets pouring water into gray powdered nutritiasalt. The stuff's tasteless, but it is clinically proven to increase mental and physical development by twenty five percent. Joys of living in District three.

"Hey mom," I say, and put on a quiet peaceful grin. That is, right before Static runs into me. We both fall onto the floor laughing. Angie chuckles, and for that moment, everything is fine.

"C'mon you loose screws. Eat your breakfast." We can all feel what she's going to say next, but we wait for her to speak anyway. "You're going to need it. It's a big day." A big day, all right.

Yet, something doesn't feel right. It's different than the anticipation of other Reapings. Something big's going to happen.

_District 3 Town Square_

_11:12_

_The Reaping_

I stand in the new dress I got for this very special occasion. An ugly pallid yellow, but cut to an amazing design. Empire waste and a three stitched on the chest. Sleeves that cling to the wrists and puff out everywhere else. My feet in leather boots two sizes too big for me.

I stand alone, my adopted siblings thankfully too young this year, and my blood related sister too old. I don't really have any friends outside of work, and all the girl's there are above eighteen. We're in a stadium surrounding the square. In the middle, there is a podium with two large metal looking bowls. Inside, each name is shuffled like a playing card, insuring that the choosing will be completely random.

Next to the bowls, there are four hoverchairs that my district likes to bring out whenever it wants to show off, but to me, it produces the opposite effect. The triviality of it leaves me with the bad taste of our name in my mouth. In the chairs, there are three people who look completely comfortable, and one that looks really out of place. Our representation in the capitol. Trella Glint. You can tell she didn't exactly volunteer for our district.

Everyone goes quiet as she stumbles up off the chair. Next to me stands a girl obviously from a richer part of town, with her nose wrinkled, irritated at the woman's incompetency. On the other side stands a child who could not be twelve, she was so small. With no older siblings, she looks like an abandoned puppy. My heart goes out to her.

As Miss Glint goes off on a big speech on stage, I try to speak to the child. "Hey there," I whisper. She backs away quickly, but is pushed back by the crowd. "Wait, I don't want to hurt you. I just... Here," I hand out the remains of my breakfast in a clear airtight bag. "I wasn't hungry." She tentatively takes it. Opening it, the puppy sticks one finger in and licks it, and soon she is inhaling the whole thing.

I smile. "It must taste really good to you. Fact is, I'm spoiled, so I get the stuff every day. My dad sells machines, so we can afford it. The thing is, I don't have any friends." I take a step closer to her, and she only slightly leans back now, her eyes entranced. She reminds me of an older girl version of Static. I stick out my hand. "Will you be my friend? I'm Gearwen. What's your name?"

She's about to say something, but right then Trella mumbles slightly louder than she has been. "Okay, I guess then... Ladies first." Her voice goes up a notch, indicating that she is starting to enjoy herself a little bit. She walks over to one bowl and grabs the name that slips out the dispenser. Clearing her throat, she calls out. "Lirit Hue!" The child beside me barely has a chance to gasp before the tracker they inject in you once you enter glows a dull red and she was vaporized from where she was standing.

Lirit Hue appears on stage, a contestant for the Hunger Games.

"Bolts." I whisper.


End file.
